Kyoto, the Zenin Clan.
When the news arrived, Ogi Zenin was writing a letter of condolence.
At the top of the letter was a name he knew well-Naoya Zenin.
He wrote it beautifully.
The characters were neat and firm, the wording appropriate and restrained. Every word conveyed precisely the right measure of regret, respect, and sympathy. His calligraphy ranked among the finest in the Zenin Clan. People had praised his handwriting since childhood, saying he had the bearing of a master, that he would surely accomplish great things.
And he had.
He had become one of the Zenin Clan's key power brokers, clan head Naobito Zenin's most trusted right-hand man, commander of Hei, and a figure of considerable influence throughout Jujutsu Society. His Cursed Technique was not the strongest, but his strategy, political skill, and patience had secured his place in this clan that revered violence above all.
His offspring had awakened one of the clan's inherited techniques, Projection Sorcery. Barring any surprises, the position of clan head was not beyond his reach either.
The only thing he had failed to account for was that boy's survival.
"My lord-"
An attendant stumbled into the study, his voice trembling with panic he could not suppress. His face was white as paper, his forehead covered in cold sweat, and his lips quivered as though he had just escaped somewhere terrifying.
Ogi Zenin did not look up.
His hand continued moving across the paper, his brush steady, without the slightest tremor. He was writing the final character. Its last stroke required a pause and a lift, and he executed it beautifully, producing a perfect finish despite the interruption.
"Speak."
His voice was quiet and calm, carrying the composure of a man long accustomed to authority.
The attendant knelt on the floor, head bowed,